


Ghosts That We knew

by Ballykissangel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Captain John Watson, Community: wholockians, Defensively Heterosexual John Watson, Doctor Who Feels, Eleventh Doctor Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanfiction, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt John, Hurt John Watson, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, John Watson's War, Life After the Doctor, Multiple Doctors (Doctor Who), Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft To The Rescue, Mycroft Worries, Mycroft's Meddling, POV John Watson, Poor Mycroft, Reichenbach Feels, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Tears, Tragedy: Death of a Brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballykissangel/pseuds/Ballykissangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor comes to live a normal life as John's flatmate after the death of Sherlock. John is not doing well and just wants to be alone to fade away and the Doctor tries to keep a promise as they struggle to learn to live with each other and themselves. A collection of humor, angst and tears between both Doctors as they learn things they have forgotten in the darkness. AU Wholock.<br/>No slash, just epic friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Came In Quiet With The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This will be a collection of stories about The Doctor coming to live a normal life as John's flatmate after Sherlock's death. It is set a couple of months before the start of "When Evening Falls So Hard"
> 
> It's not based on the typical timeline of 11. It will mostly be a series of angst/hurt and comfort one shots, with a little bit of humor mixed in, as both Doctors learn things they have forgotten and help each other through their dark times.
> 
> Warning: No slash, but of a lot of tears and angst from both Doctors, so a tissue warning may apply.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or DW, I'm just visiting around with them.

When he opened his eyes that morning, the familiar shades of gray greeted him, the gray ceiling, the gray undecorated walls of his bedroom. Through the window the presence of gray clouds threatened oncoming rain for the gray September morning and the wind was softly blowing through the trees that were starting to lose their golden brown leaves.

He forced himself to get out of bed and put his feet on the floor, everything he did now seemed to hurt even more these days since Sherlock's death and as the months passed it felt like his spirit was also passing and he dreaded when he had to get up and get himself moving.

Still in his tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms, he made himself walk to the bathroom and wash away the sweat left behind from the nightmares that had come to him in the night. He splashed water on his face, ignoring the tired and washed out blue eyes that stared back at him in the hollowed and pale face in the mirror's reflection.

The stillness and silence of his flat greeted him and reminded him of yet another day he had to face alone, but John had grown used to it and it felt it was a part of him that he accepted without question, not that he didn't have any questions for it, he was just too tired to ask them anymore.

He walked into the tiny kitchen area to make himself some tea and attempt to eat something. A few minutes later, as he sat at the bare kitchen table with his tea and an untouched piece of toast, he pulled out yesterday's newspaper and saw the ad he had reluctantly agreed to have published for a flat mate.

He had done it unwillingly of course, finally giving in under Mycroft's firm threat of either getting a flat mate to live with him or to have John taken and treated under observation for his disinterest in life whether he wanted to or not. Mycroft's reasoning was that if John had a flat mate, it would help him at least to keep moving on with his life even though he was just pretending.

He had done fairly well as to be expected the few months after the funeral, but it seemed the harder John tried to pick up living again, the more colorless and cold the world seemed and nothing felt the same. His psychosomatic limp was back and so was his PTSD eating disorder, although John didn't suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome as bad as some soldiers, it did not completely pass him by and after he was released from the RAMC he developed a depression linked eating disorder that was common among PTSD sufferers. John knew they had crept up on him again but he just didn't have the strength or will to fight them and they came back to him like old familiar friends.

He remembered the night when Mycroft came to see him about the possibility of a new flat mate. Mycroft paced the small sitting room, his face shadowed with worry he as tried to talk to him and John sat, and nodded blankly while pretending to be listening.

John wasn't the only one that had changed for the worse since Sherlock's death and they both knew an end was coming soon. But the guilt of the elder Holmes made him more determined to never see that end happen, while the guilt of the soul shattered doctor silently longed for it.

The last thing Mycroft Holmes wanted to do was bury John next to his brother, no one's little brother should die before him and he knew he could not leave John to the same fate and to watch him give up and stop. Sherlock cheated, and they were the ones that had to stay behind to suffer in silence and play by the rules.

The next day Mycroft submitted the advertisement and told John he would interview the applicants and send the one he approved. He told John to behave himself and to at least try, if not for himself then for Sherlock. John calmly replied that Sherlock didn't try for him so why would he care, he was _dead,_ then John rose and left Mycroft behind in his office with his head in his hands and the burden of the casualties that his brother left behind.

John folded the paper and shut his eyes, giving into the nagging feeling of betrayal, of Sherlock and what they used to have as flat mates, but something inside him knew that maybe Mycroft was right, maybe having another body around would help him even for few more days to keep on. Even just for a little while before that would eventually fail like everything else did. John just wasn't sure if he wanted to keep on, he just didn't want to surrender and admit it out loud to himself or to Mycroft.

A knock on the door interrupted him and his internal battle. Sighing and taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and silently hoped that it was the postman. He went and opened the door to the most unusual looking man John had ever seen. The man had his back turned to John, with his head tilted back and he was gazing up at the sky and was letting the rain fall softly upon him, his arms were raised as if receiving a present, as if the rain was one of the best gifts he had gotten in a long time.

"Yes?" John asked gruffly, annoyed about being intruded on and that he could do nothing to stop it as Mycroft's words echoed in his mind. The man whirled around with an ungraceful air and he stared at John for a few minutes, like John was someone he had heard about and this was the first time to meet him. John noticed the man's eyes were bright, but they also had a bit of sadness around the edges, like the look you see in an older person who has felt the heavy hand of time. "Hello, John Watson..." the man spoke softly, his voice trailed off and he began to look John over slowly, then he smiled softly and a bit sadly, as if John reminded him of a bittersweet memory, and he had come back to check to see if it was still where he had left it.

He suddenly shook his head as if he seemed to remember the reason why he had come, and with an excited " _Oh yes!"_ He dug like a little boy into his pocket of his coat, the touch of sadness around him now vanished and John thought he had imagined it as the trick of the light as the man pulled out a rumpled looking piece of paper from his pocket and with a flourish showed it to John, "I'm here about this, your advertisement for a flat mate, I have been approved by a My... Mycroft Holmes? is that it? Yes, well _him,_ I have been approved by him and here I am."

He fell silent for moment as if his speech blew over too quickly and he didn't know what else to do and John just stared at him as he looked back at John with calm expectancy, then looked quietly down at his shoes and waited for John to say something. Silently John took the piece of paper, nodding as he looked at it, he replied cold and stiffly, still rather unsure and skeptical of the man that stood before him like a happy stray dog who decided he had found a new home. "Yes, this is… mine, I mean, yes, it's for me."

"Good!" The man looked up, his eyes shining and clasped his hands together in glee as he smiled at John. "Well then, hello, John Watson. My name is The Doctor and I'm your new flat mate." As John opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "I don't need you or want you, and it will just be a waste of time so just go away and leave me alone." The man- The _Doctor -_ turned back to gaze wistfully up at the sky like he had forgotten something up there.

"Nothing like a good September rain." He stated in a bit of a sad way and after turning and flashing John another smile, he waltzed past him into the flat. John heard his voice, filled with almost childish excitement, float back to him from the living room. "This is perfect! Bit grayish but I like the color gray, it has a feeling that no other color can offer, it's like rain.. I like rain, rain is good..."

John looked warily up at the nothing special to him gray clouds and sighed, as he folded the paper into his pocket, he turned and followed to see what he had just gotten himself into and the strange man he already resented and very deeply hoped would not stay long. John wondered if pretending to be alive would actually turn out to hurt worse than to accept that he was dead. And John didn't think that this unwelcome, strange-looking, lanky man with a crooked bow tie and a crumpled piece of paper would change a single thing.


	2. Chicken Soup For The Troubled Soul

"So this is your room," John said as he let the door slide open. The Doctor hesitated outside of the doorway as he leaned over and peered a bit timidly inside. "My room," he softly repeated John's words, then he took a step inside and began slowly turning around, gazing as if it had been a long time since he had been in or had a room like this before. He began to touch the furniture, he ran his hand along the bed and he patted it gently with his slender hand as if it were an old friend, then he looked up and smiled brightly at John, "My room, it's perfect."

Before John could answer, the Doctor uttered a delighted squeak and threw himself face down on the floor and wriggled under the bed, all John could see of him was his skinny legs and his green striped socks showing between his pant leg and shoes as they stuck out from under the bed. "Hello!" John heard the muffled exclamation come from under the bed "Look at all this room! you can keep all sorts of interesting things under here." The legs waved in excitement.

"It's just a room," John replied gruffly, "Nothing special about it, it's not even decorated." The other mans pleasure at something so simple had made him slightly angry.

"Yes, but… it's my room," The doctor replied, not phased in the least by John's gruffness as he wriggled out from underneath the bed and brushed off the adorning dust bunnies. "That is what makes it special." he added, as he started imagining all the things could do to decorate it.

"Would you help me?"

"What?" John asked with a quiet sigh, slightly unsure of what was coming.

"Will you help me decorate my room, I never decorated one before." John looked at the man kneeling on the floor, looking up at him in hopeful expectation.

"Me? No, I mean it's not my room. Just decorate it however you want, whatever you do will be fine." He tried to ignore the disappointment that filled the Doctor's face as he looked down at the dust bunny he was carefully holding and softly said, "Oh, alright then, thank you, John Watson."

John tried to ignore the prick of his conscious, he could see that the Doctor knew John didn't like him, and it made John all the more frustrated that the Doctor was pretending not to notice and acting like John was treating him like his best friend, _I have no friends._ John mentally slapped himself and called over his shoulder as he left the room, "Good, come on then, there's some food in the kitchen if you're hungry."

The Doctor's face lighted up, the disappointment from John's brush off now hidden "I am rather hungry." The Doctor admitted as he slipped the dust bunny into his pocket and gave his room a little farewell wave as he rose to follow John down the stairs, _well_ tripped down them actually, John had not seen someone so graceful and yet so clumsy since Sherlock.

John looked the around the small kitchen for something to eat deciding that this would be the only time he would make something for the man, after this he was on his own, John knew that he would have to go shopping soon as he realized that he had nothing besides a container of custard, a can of rather plain chicken soup and a box of fish fingers.

Never being in the mood to eat much of anything, he never took much care in what food he had. Mrs. Hudson brought him things sometimes but other than that, he couldn't remember the last time he went food shopping.

"Do you like chicken soup?" John asked over his shoulder as he went to the fridge. The Doctor hesitated for a moment as if he was thinking and then cheerfully replied, "I don't know… I don't remember ever having a chicken soup." He floated over and sat down at the kitchen table, he folded his hands together and he watched John excitedly as if he was going to do a magic trick.

"Oh, okay then," John replied, frowning slightly, _how does someone not know about chicken soup? Everyone has eaten chicken soup at least once in their life, but I suppose normal would not be something to label him, even Sherlock, no do not think of Sherlock, he is nothing like Sherlock._ John shook his head to clear his thoughts and sighed, the new flat mate had only been here for an hour and was already testing John's patience.

"Lets try the soup then, it's really good," replied John. As calmly as he could as he opened the can, then after heating some up under the watchful gaze of the Doctor, it seemed like the man was studying every move he made as if he was learning. John set a spoon and a bowl of the soup before him, the doctor excitedly picked up the spoon and took a bite, held it in his mouth for a second, and then immediately made a face and ungracefully let the mouthful of soup fall back into his bowl, he wiped at his tongue and mouth with his fingers and he grimaced as he looked up at the shocked John sitting at the table across from him.

Before John could move or say a word, the Doctor walked over and threw his soup –bowl and all- out of the open kitchen window and as he wiped his hands on his coat with a satisfied air he yelled after the shattering of the bowl, "And don't come back!" And as an after thought he added "Ya nasty!"

He started calmly muttering to himself as he shut the window "Chicken soup, nasty stuff, just chicken sweat with faux bits in it, can't risk that trying to crawl back in here." John found himself pulling his own soup bowl protectively towards him as the doctor- _madman_ turned and warily looked at him and his soup bowl.

John tried to snap himself out of the shock of what just happened, he closed his mouth and tried to swallow his anger that was trying to get the best of him as he stammered "I have a box of frozen fish fingers and some custard a friend of mine made for me, how… how would that be?"

He was surprised by how well he was taking what had just happened with the soup incident but he guessed it was all the years he had spent with Sherlock. After life with Sherlock, nothing could really surprise him now and he had agreed to Mycroft that he would behave himself, that meant not kicking the man out the first day even if he did break his dishes and trip over his own feet for the third time that morning.

The Doctor was silent for a moment. He straightened his crooked bow tie as if composing himself from the chicken soup ordeal and nodded as he looked away from John, "I… I would like that, I have not had them in a very... long time," His voice had a far away sadness to it as he walked back to his seat at the table.

"Alright then," John replied dumping out his soup himself, he didn't want to lose another bowl to a casualty and started pulling out the items from the fridge. He heated up the fish fingers and dished out the custard that Mrs. Hudson had brought him. "We will stay away from chicken soup, I wasn't aware of how lethal it would be." His voiced was tinged with sarcasm.

"Yes," the doctor replied gravely, "A bit not good, that." John froze as he heard Sherlock's voice in his mind _, "A bit not good John? a bit not good."_ John slammed the cupboard door, startling the Doctor behind him who was examining the salt and pepper shakers.

_Stop it, John, he is not Sherlock and you can't let him haunt you with his memory._

As he set the food down on the table, John said "We can go shopping tomorrow I suppose, as I'm sure you have things that you need to get," The Doctor nodded as he slowly pulled his plate closer to him. He stared down at his fish and custard, and John was shocked to see that the Doctor looked like he was going to cry, he was sure he could see tears in the smaller man's eyes. "Do fish fingers and custard always make you cry?" He asked, his eyebrows raised in question at the strange oddities of his new flat mate.

The Doctor looked up him, he was indeed a bit misty eyed, and smiled sadly at him, "They… they didn't used to," he whispered as he picked up one of the fish fingers and delicately dipped it into his custard. He made a gesture with it as if saluting some memory, then he smiled at John and began eating as if he didn't have a care in the world, in which John was beginning to suspect was somewhat of a lie, he could tell the motions of someone faking the truth, he was an expert at it.

John groaned silently _what did he care,_ he dreaded the thought of all the meal times to come in the future and how he was going to survive them and this new flat mate, who already reminded him of someone he used to know.

_****_


	3. Doctors In Hospital Beds

After they had finally finished eating, much to John's relief, the Doctor begged to help with the dishes, and so for a few minutes the air was filled with the happy chatter of the Doctor as he dried and the flapping flurry of the dish towel mixed with the occasional grunts from John who was washing and trying to ignore him.

They almost made it through all the dishes without casualty until the Doctor finally dropped a soup bowl and it crashed to the floor. _The last of its kind,_ John thought in dismay as both Doctors stared forlornly down at the sad and shattered remains of the loyal soup bowl.

The Doctor tried to clean the mess up but was immediately kicked out of the kitchen by John in a way the Doctor could only describe as "Raging" and he wandered sadly into the living room after surrendering his dish towel.

After finally getting the shattered pieces swept up and finishing the rest of the kitchen, John realized he had not heard any noise from the Doctor for the last fifteen minutes or so.

Worried at what else he might find damaged beyond repair, he went and looked for his new erratic flatmate, dreading that he might actually find him and to his disappointment he did find him. Sprawled upside down on the settee and watching the telly.

His ankles were crossed and they were resting against the wall, his head dangling a few inches off the floor as it hung off the settee and he was clutching the union jack pillow in his arms as he crowed with happiness at a _Monty Python_ sketch.

"Hello!" He cheerfully greeted John from his upside down position, "Want to come watch? It's the _Gangster Granny_ sketch, I think you'd like it, you have to watch out for Grannies, you know. They can turn on you in a flash."

John shook his head, clenching his left hand, trying to hide his frustration he knew had no reason to be there. "I'm going to bed, don't forget to turn off the telly when you're done."

The Doctor plopped ungracefully over onto his side on the settee cushions and looked at John sadly as he tried to untangle his arms and legs from each other, trying not to fall completely off the settee and onto his head.

"Oh, alright then," He replied as he stood up in triumph over his battle with his uncooperative limbs and he followed John down the hall to his bedroom chattering about what they would get when they went shopping.

"I haven't been shopping in a shop for ages," The Doctor said excitedly, "Do you think they will have any jammy dodgers? Are they still the sa-" They had reached John's room and he almost ran into John, who turned around angrily, stopping him abruptly in his rambling.

"Look," John said gruffly, "I don't care what you get, just buy whatever you like, as long as I don't have to hear about it." And he shut his door in the Doctor's face, leaving him alone in the hallway.

The Doctor stood outside the door for a few minutes, his head bowed as he looked down at his shoes, realizing that he was so very tired and that John was not coming out again. After turning off the telly and switching off the living room lamp, the Doctor headed upstairs to his room, too tired to even be glad about spending his first night in his real room.

The Doctor sat down on the edge of his bed, glad for the sound of silence that filled the room but hating how it made him miss the soft, warm hum of the TARDIS.

He heard the soft pattering of the rain against the window pane and thought about the TARDIS, alone in the rain. He had placed her in a safe spot, and Mycroft Holmes had promised that he would keep an eye on her and that she would be quite safe where she was.

He then remembered the box of old books that was in the back of his closet. John had said they were just old copies that he didn't want any more but didn't want to throw away.

The Doctor couldn't remember the last time he even picked up a book and he jumped up excitedly from the bed, dived into his closet and pulled out the box with excited glee.

Kneeling before the box, he discovered that it contained several old dog-eared paperbacks, mostly old biographies and war stories. Old news, been there, done that type of read.

But one title caught his eye, _Tuck Everlasting._ He picked it up and nearly gasped as somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized it. "Oh, look Amy!" He exclaimed cheerfully as he gently stroked the book.

"This is your favorite book remember? You read it all the time in the TARDIS and you always said it was a favorite of yours from when you were little, you even said you would read it out loud to me one day, remember, Amy?"

He looked up from the book and his eyes searched his room, expecting to meet the sassy hazel eyes that he knew so well. Only silence answered him and he took a deep breath as he caught himself.

"Oh…" He said in a disappointed whisper as he looked around his empty room and his smile faded as he realized where he was and that he was alone. Amy wasn't there beside him; he had just been talking to himself again.

He looked down at the book in his hands and his eyes blurred with bitter tears as he unwillingly remembered that Amy was gone and in her place, just like the others, was left the ever present countdown of empty years since he had lost her. Five years eight months and twenty-four days gone. But it felt like a thousand.

"Not just Amy." He whispered shakily, as a tear fell onto the worn out cover of the book. All of them, _all_ of them were gone now. His beautiful, amazing companions, so many wonderful beginnings and so many heart breaking endings. Except for him, he never got an ending and he was left alone, just him and the ghosts he once knew. He could see their faces and could feel their hands resting softly upon his bowed head as if to comfort him with their memory.

He slowly pushed all the books except _Tuck Everlasting_ back into the closet and went and laid back on his bed. As he clutched the book, he tried to tell himself that it was alright, he had just forgotten again.

He had been doing it a lot during the past few months, forgetting that he was alone and that they had faded away. His mind playing tricks on him, thinking that _they_ were there with him, laughing and talking beside him. The first time it happened, he had spent a whole day running around the TARDIS, chattering excitedly away to Donna Noble about a type of flying snail he had stumbled over one day.

He didn't even realize she wasn't actually there until he passed a mirror and saw only his own reflection dash by and no Donna behind him. He went back to the mirror and found only his own eyes staring back at him and as he whirled around and looked frantically for Donna, begging her to say something, he realized that the emptiness surrounding him had been real, and his Donna _was not_ real. It was just himself.

It had disturbed him so much, that all he could do was to sit on the TARDIS floor and stare at his reflection.

As he sat there, he tried to sort his memories and put them where they belonged, trying to keep the past separate from the present, but they kept slipping away from him, unwilling to stay in their proper places, unwilling to accept the truth.

After a while, he finally stopped trying, as the faces and voices of the past overcame him, reminding him that _he_ was the memory and the one that got left behind while the others had to go on living. Too exhausted to fight his mind and memories, he just gave in and hugging his knees to his chest he cried hopelessly for himself and his overwhelming reality while the TARDIS silently watched over him.

As he lay there on the bed he thought about John Watson, the man pretending to be asleep downstairs and the promise he had made to stay and look after him during Sherlock's absence.

The Doctor had been grateful to have a chance to slow down and try something new. He had always dreaded living in a house and doing normal things that normal people did, but as the years darkened, and the companions kept leaving, he thought it might not be so bad to give it a try after all.

He would miss the traveling, but somehow he knew that he desperately needed this, and so did the TARDIS. He had realized he wasn't who he used to be and that this was his chance to slow down and rebuild himself. The man who carried the weight of the universe was terribly tired, both physically and mentally and needed to rest his world wearied shoes.

They always said the best road to recovery was to help someone else.

He laughed, a bit sadly, to himself, "I wonder, will I be able to help someone else when I can't even save myself? I'm just a tired old man," He whispered as he stared up at the starless ceiling, "Lying on a bed and losing my mind. I can save planets and galaxies, but myself? I have nothing left for myself."

He lay there, listening to the rain falling and the night hours silently pass. The dark clouds rolled over him and they seeped through the cracks in his mind.

 _Some medicine I am, one broken doctor coming to try to help another broken doctor, this must be where the broken and used up doctors go to die. They can't help each other and they can't help themselves so they just lay here in their pretend hospital beds until they lose their minds from the reality of things they have lost and their hearts stop from lifeless apathy_ …

The text tone of his mobile startled him out of his thoughts, no one had texted him in a very long time but he remembered who it would be, especially at this time of night.

**Blocked Number: How is he?**

**TD: Just like you said and he also dislikes me very much.**

**Blocked Number: Give him time, he'll come around.**

**TD: How can you be so sure?**

**Blocked Number: Because, I know him and I know you, don't worry, he'll come around, He reminds me of you, when we first met.**

**TD: I suppose he does. Thanks for the jelly babies, by the way. I didn't think you remembered. It's been ages since I've had a good jelly baby.**

**Blocked Number: You're welcome, and I always remember.**

**Thank you for doing this, Doctor, you are the only one that can, and I have always trusted you. I have to go now, it won't be long now and I'll see both of you again soon.**

"Take care of yourself, Sherlock." The Doctor softly said as he deleted the messages from his phone. Well, even if he didn't believe in himself to keep his promise and help John Watson, he knew Sherlock did and maybe, that was all he needed.

Who knew, maybe as he lay in his hospital bed, trying to find and repair his own shattered remains, he might enjoy himself. It wasn't everyday that he had the opportunity to live in a flat and do what people who lived in flats do; it might even be fun at that.

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." He laughed as he wiped at his eyes, erasing the effect of the tears that Sherlock's trust had brought on him.

Turning off his bedroom light, he pulled his covers over his head. He switched on the torch he had brought with him. In the safety of his cover fortress, he opened _Tuck Everlasting_ and as he began to read, it was Amy's voice reading to him that faded the sound of rain and the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead.


	4. I'll Never Forget You

The long forgotten smell of scrambled eggs woke John that morning. He lay in bed as the sun streamed in through his window and he wondered why Sherlock would be making breakfast at this hour. He didn't even eat it most of the time unless John made him and let Sherlock steal some of John's strawberry jam to go with it.

 _Oh... never mind._ The thought hit John as he remembered that it wasn't Sherlock that was cooking the breakfast. He closed his eyes and ran his hand across his face, it was The Doctor, and he was messing around into the kitchen again. Just what John needed to start his day.

As John tried to ignore the dull ache in his shoulder, he waited for the sound of breaking dishes. Hearing none, he decided it might be wise to go check on his new flat mate before he set himself or the kitchen on fire. As John was getting dressed he got a text message from Mycroft.

**How is it going?: M.H**

**Of all the people in the word to dump on me you had to pick him. Why does he need to be here again?: J.W**

**He needs you and you need him: M.H**

**I don't need anyone and no one can help him, besides a psychiatrist: J.W**

**You would be surprised. You are not the only one who has lost his way, John.**

**Take care of him, it will be good for you. You are not that much different from each other. Have fun shopping: M.H**

John mentally groaned at the reminder that this was the day that they had to go food shopping, hopefully they could get it over with as fast and as painlessly as possible.

 _He needs you. Take care of him, you are not that much different._ Mycroft's words ran through John's mind as he painfully pulled a dark grey jumper over his head. The cold weather was making his shoulder hurt more than it usually did and he remembered Mycroft's threat of making him move to a place with around the clock supervision and care unless John decided to behave himself.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to give The Doctor a tiny chance, he didn't think Mycroft knew what he was talking about when he said that John needed The Doctor and The Doctor needed John and to take care of him, but it might get Mycroft off his back for a little while at least.

As John walked into the kitchen he saw The Doctor spooning eggs onto two plates and hearing John's footsteps, he looked up and smiled broadly. "Good Morning," he said cheerfully and then he looked down at the spoon he was holding and seemed to remember what he was doing with it.

"Oh, yes! We... I mean, _I_ made breakfast." he said proudly, waving the spoon in the air as to emphasize the statement. "I see that," John answered warily, as he walked across the kitchen and sat down at the table. The Doctor carefully set a plate down in front of him and backed away.

_Yes, I think he officially knows you don't like him._

Ignoring the thought, John took a bite and was surprised to find the eggs were quite good. It had been a long time since anyone had made him breakfast and he had forgotten what it was like.

"Did you have any trouble? He asked as he took another bite.

"Trouble? Me?" The Doctor asked and grinned. "No, none at all." And he was silent the rest of the meal, although John could tell he was excited about going shopping, it seemed as if he didn't want to anger John by talking about it. John remembered the last words he had said to the other man _._

_Nice going, John, if it were Sherlock who had said that you would have pinched him._

"The breakfast was really good," John said quietly after he had finished his eggs, "Thank you for making it."

The Doctor looked at John and was silent for a moment as though he was thinking about how to respond. After a few seconds he smiled and nodded, "Thank you, John Watson."

As they rose to clear the table, John paused and looked down at the plate in his hand, taking a deep breath, he quietly said, "John... Just, John."

"I'm sorry?" The Doctor asked as he gingerly set his cup and plate into the sink and turned to face John.

"You can call me John." John replied and looked up at the Doctor who looked surprised and then excited, as if he understood and he rubbed his hands together and nodded at John. "Alright then, John," he replied with a slight smile, "You may call me The Doctor."

"Is that your real name?" John asked. The Doctor looked down and placed his hands in his coat pockets. "It is what all my friends call me or..." The Doctor paused and looked away, not being able to hold John's gaze anymore, "They used to call me." he said sadly.

"Alright," John said, not wanting to push the man into that dark place of sadness he always seemed to be standing at the edge of. "The Doctor it is."

The Doctor only nodded but John could tell his response made the other man truly happy.

 _He needs you, Take care of him. "_ Shut up, Mycroft." John muttered to the voice in his mind and went to get his coat, calling over his shoulder, "Ready to go shopping?"

Immediately the Doctor was at his side and he hopped excitedly from foot to foot as John locked the door to the flat and hailed a cab. Inside the cab, the Doctor was silent but John could tell he was excited about 'Shopping in a real shop'. John cleared his throat as if to say something to him but realized he didn't have anything to say so both Doctors just sat and quietly looked out their windows.

"Yellow car, Rory." A soft voice broke the silence and John looked over at the Doctor.

"What?" He asked.

"Yellow car." The Doctor replied, looking rather pleased with himself, unaware that he had let the name slip by accident.

"Why did you say 'Yellow car, Rory?' John asked, "Who is Rory?"

The Doctor looked at him and his happiness slowly turned into confusion as he stared at John for a few seconds and John could see that the Doctor had forgotten who he was.

Catching himself as Rory disappeared from the seat beside him and John Watson looked at him, the Doctor smiled tiredly at John as he realized who he was with again. "I... I was just talking to myself, It's nothing, just a yellow car. It's what you say when you see a yellow car, you know."

John smiled softly but his smile vanished as he remembered how Sherlock hated playing yellow car and always said it was stupid when John tried to play it with him.

"I'm sorry." The Doctor whispered and turned back to the window, still trying to collect his bearings and trying to remind his scattered memories that it wasn't Rory sitting beside him.

John, angry at himself for letting his emotions show took a deep breath to steady his irritation before replying. "For what?"

"I'm sorry for whatever memory took away your smile." The Doctor looked at John sadly before turning back to his window.

John nodded stiffly, all the irritation at himself suddenly blown away. "Yeah," He replied. "So am I."

A flash of yellow caught his eye and before he could stop himself, he whispered. "Yellow car."

He heard the Doctor giggle softly beside him and the sound reminded him of Mycroft's words again, _He needs you and you need him._ John closed his eyes, remembering the look of confusion on The Doctor's face as he looked at John, but saw someone else instead and how long it took him to realize who John was again. John rested his tired head against the window as the rain started to fall against it.

When they reached Tesco's, The Doctor, much to John's relief, behaved very nicely. He kept close to John, looking around wide eyed at everything as John pushed the trolley.

It took The Doctor only a few minutes to finally stop gaping at everything and to desert John in the middle of the store. As John started his own shopping, The Doctor would appear at his side every few minutes to unload various items into the trolley with childish glee and a full description of every item.

John never knew that a cup of milk and pepsi helped the brain function. Or that chocolate chip biscuits dipped in ketchup could boost your courage level and you could do things you never imagined doing after consuming them.

As John was getting some milk he heard the Doctor gasp, and turning around he saw the tail of the familiar brown coat disappearing into the pasta aisle. A few minutes later the Doctor showed up again, this time his arms were full of boxes of dinosaur shaped macaroni and cheese and bow tie pasta.

"Look what I found, John," The Doctor exclaimed, holding up two of the boxes in delight, "Pasta in the shapes of triceratops and bow ties! Some of my favorite things! I knew a triceratops once, it loved golf balls..."

His voice trailed off as he stared down at the boxes in his hands and then he quickly looked up and around as if he had forgotten where he was and then suddenly remembered again.

He gave John a little smile. "It was a good dream." he said softly and placed the boxes in the trolley with little pat. "I'm glad Donna pointed these out to me."

John was about to say something, he didn't know about a Donna and the random forgetting episodes were starting to become a regular occurrence with his new flat mate. But before John could open his mouth to say anything about it, the Doctor caught sight of some bananas and was gone again.

Shaking his head, John turned to look for some food that might interest him. The Doctor seemed to be doing better than John at finding things. He had a good collection of different types of food. Mac and cheese, ketchup, chocolate chip biscuits, sushi, wasabi, bananas; animal crackers; jammy dodgers and some pepsi.

John didn't know what planet his flat mate had gotten his strange taste buds from and he desperately hoped if he ever tried to make any more meals for John that he would stick with eggs.

He cringed when he remembered the Doctor placing peanut butter and a bag of marshmallows in the trolley and started talking rapidly about how it was always a good thing to keep a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich under your bed.

Passing the bakery section, John found a group of children gathered around the cupcake display and the Doctor, standing right along with them, all of them looking eagerly at the cupcakes. A woman came up beside John and as she looked at the children, she smiled and asked, "Which one's yours?"

Without thinking John replied with a small sigh, "That one." And he pointed to the Doctor. The lady laughed softly, "He looks sad, get him a red velvet, a red velvet helps with everything."

John didn't know what to say and just nodded, He hadn't noticed it before now but the Doctor did have new shadow of sadness around him as he smiled down at the children and chatted with them about the different cupcakes. After he watched the Doctor walk away, distracted by a sale on pickles, John went and asked the woman behind the counter to box up two red velvet cupcakes.

As they were getting ready to check out, something caught the Doctor's eye and before John could see what it was, The Doctor grabbed it and hid it under some celery.

"What did you get?" John asked, but the Doctor looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. "Nothing important." He replied, shyly and looking slightly embarrassed. John just shrugged and turned away but he knew the Doctor's excuse wasn't true, it _was_ something important.

As John grabbed his bags and headed for the door, he gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. He was surprised when he felt someone's hand gently touch his, stopping him to take the bags from him. He looked up to see The Doctor adding John's bags to his own collection.

"I can carry my own bags, I don't need any help." John said, embarrassed at someone noticing his pain and trying to help him. The Doctor smiled and shrugged, "It's alright, I understand. We all have our old war wounds that hurt us some days."

John stared at him, he had never mentioned his injuries or his past to The Doctor and it angered him that The Doctor would bring it up like this. "So where are yours?" He asked coldly, doubting the man before him ever saw a battle in his life.

The Doctor tapped a finger against his head and whispered sadly, "Up here." Then he turned and walked out the door leaving John speechless, to follow behind.

When they finally made it back to the flat and after staggering through the door with their haul of the day, The Doctor set his bags of various food items on the kitchen table and grabbed the bag with the special and secret item, which he had held in his lap during the cab ride home. He ran up to his room and was gone only a few minutes before returning to help John unload the rest of the groceries.

After they had gotten everything put up, The Doctor flung himself upon the settee, tiredly drawing his knees up to his chest and sighed. "I didn't know shopping could be so tiring, I must be getting old." He giggled like he just told a joke.

Sitting down in his chair, John nodded. "I had forgotten about it, I used to do the shopping all the time before..." He caught himself as he was about to say "Before Sherlock died." The Doctor looked at him quietly, as if he knew what John was trying not to say.

They sat there for a while in unsure silence of each other, listening to the rain fall. The Doctor startled John when he suddenly half jumped half fell off the settee and asked if John wanted a cup of tea.

Nodding in reply, John accepted and before John could move, The Doctor vanished into the kitchen and a few minutes later he reappeared with two cups of the best tea John had tasted in what seemed like years. "I think they might be playing _Monty Python_ again today." John said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them.

The Doctor looked up from his tea, his eyes shining. "Oh?" he replied, his eyebrows raising excitedly. John nodded and for the next couple of hours they watched Monty Python, with The Doctor sitting in his corner, giggling into his tea cup every few minutes. As John sat there and found himself starting to smile at the antics on the telly, he received a text message from Mycroft.

**Well done, John, just one day at a time: M.H**

**I don't know how. I don't know what to do: J.W**

**Neither does he. Being alone hurts him, John, just like you and just like Sherlock. Don't make him be alone, John: M.H**

Tears stung John's eyes as the memories flooded his mind and he could hear Sherlock's voice. _"Alone protects me_."

"You were wrong." John whispered as he ran his shaking hand across his forehead. He felt eyes upon him, lifting his head he saw The Doctor looking at him, almost shyly as if he knew he was interrupting something.

Shaking off his memories and emotions, John stood up, putting his poker face on again. "Ready for dinner?" He asked gruffly and The Doctor brightened at the thought.

John could already tell the man was the type to always be hungry but would forget to eat whenever caught up with his mind.

_Like Sherlock._

The thought took John off his guard and he angrily brushed it away, nothing about this man was like Sherlock.

Later as they sat at the kitchen table, John tried to make himself eat a half a sandwich and drink a cup of tea, he looked across the table and wondered if his new flat mate was a child stuck inside a man's body or an old man stuck inside a younger man's body. There were some moments that John couldn't tell which, as The Doctor sat across from him, eagerly eating his dinosaur macaroni and cheese, mixed with wasabi and drinking a concoction of milk and pepsi.

John thought the man would fall off his chair in surprise as John presented him his cupcake after dinner was over. The Doctor kept staring down at it and then back at John again, speechless with emotion.

John sighed, and as he said "It's yours, I thought we could use some desert tonight." The Doctor looked like he was about to cry. "No... No one has every given me a cupcake before," he whispered as he looked down at his gift. "I don't know what to do."

John smiled before he caught himself and replied, "You just take it and eat it."

The Doctor nodded, "Thank you John, I appreciate you."

Stunned by the simple and honest statement and not knowing what to say in reply, John just nodded and turning, he left the kitchen, unable to face the man who unwillingly reminded him more and more of Sherlock.

_"Well done, John," Sherlock said as John finished wrapping the last of the bandage around Sherlock's arm. John was surprised when Sherlock handed him a black felt tip marker. "Do you want to authenticate it?" Sherlock asked. John smiled and gently wrote_ **_John was here_ ** _on the wrapping. Sherlock looked pleased with his signed injury. "Thank you John," he said as he eased painfully into his bed and John draped the duvet over him. "I appreciate you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you liked it, I'd love to read your reviews and thoughts about it.
> 
> Does John seem like he's warming up to The Doctor more?
> 
> I'm not exactly sure where this is heading after this chapter so if you have any thoughts or ideas that you have or would like to see. Let me know and I'll try to write them.


	5. Adopted Doctors

As John settled in his chair to read his morning newspaper, The Doctor, who had been strangely quiet and inactive all day, wandered into the living room and silently curled up on the settee.

John, without looking up, found the comic section and placed it into the awaiting, outstretched hand. They had developed a system, when John got a paper, The Doctor got the comics.

John thought that they had done fairly well together the last few weeks after the big shopping trip. Better than John had imagined they would. But it seemed that since the beginning of December and everyday that Christmas drew closer, The Doctor would shrink away from anything Christmas related. He had also gotten quieter and had been lost in his mind more than usual.

John couldn't blame him, really, he also dreaded Christmas, especially facing another one without Sherlock. But at least this Christmas he wouldn't be completely alone with his demons, and this year he actually felt like acknowledging that Christmas was here.

As John read an advertisement for Christmas trees, a question that had been on his mind for a while started to rise again, and seeing that this was as good a time as any to ask it, John looked up to see The Doctor sitting on the settee, his arms wrapped around his knees. It didn't take John long to discover over the past few weeks that it was his favorite sitting position. He was giggling softly to himself as he read the comics.

He had his face buried in the paper and he was wearing those circle framed glasses of his. Where he had found those glasses, John didn't know. He only knew that the Doctor carried them everywhere.

"I was thinking that maybe we could set up a Christmas tree and maybe decorate the flat a little. What do you think, Doctor?"

John's voice seemed to have pulled The Doctor out of his thoughts. He jumped slightly and looked over at John as if he didn't understand what he was saying.

"Why?" he asked as if John was setting him up for a punch line.

Surprised, John stammered. "Well… It's only a few more days till Christmas and I thought it would be nice... for us."

A flicker of sadness passed across The Doctor's face and he shifted uncomfortably on the settee, his comics forgotten, as he thought about John's words. "I don't know," The Doctor replied softly, taking off his glasses and looking away from John as he spoke. "It's... It's been a long time since I have had a Christmas."

John leaned forward in his chair and tried to think of something that would make The Doctor happy.

"I'll let you decorate the tree. I bet you will love that. Then it would be all nice and pretty when we put presents under it."

The Doctor's brow furrowed, and laying aside the comics, he clutched his knees tighter.

"Why would there be presents under the tree?"

"Well," John tried to remember what he had told Sherlock their first Christmas together, when he had asked that exact same question. It was amusing that the simplest things like Christmas presents could be confusing to people like Sherlock and The Doctor. John had learned a long time ago that with Sherlock, the best way to answer was to just get to the point without messing with sentiment.

"It's just what friends and family do on Christmas. It's tra-"

John's voice trailed off as he saw The Doctor slowly wipe a hand across his face to hide the tears that filled his eyes. John realized that he'd said something more than a bit not good.

"But I... I have no friends or family," The Doctor whispered. It was as if he was talking more to himself than to John.

"I am just a man of acquaintances now so I guess that leaves me with no qualifications for Christmas."

John was shocked, he had never seen The Doctor openly cry or heard him talk about his life before. John could tell now that Christmas was just as painful for The Doctor as it was for him. John should have seen this coming.

The Doctor uncurled his legs and slowly got to his feet, then walked past John and to the door with the bearing of an old man. John also stood, trying to think of something to say but couldn't, because he knew exactly what The Doctor meant and how he felt.

"Doctor" he managed to say, stepping toward the other man. "Look, I know what you're feeling. We... don't have to get a tree, we can do something else."

As The Doctor opened the door, he turned back to look at John again. "I'm going for a walk, I'm sorry... I'm not much of a Christmas person."

Right as John opened his mouth to beg. "Wait, Doctor, it's alright." The Doctor slipped though the door and gently shut it behind him. Leaving John standing speechless and for the first time, wishing that he could find a way to help his new flat mate. Returning to his chair, John rested his head in his hands, wearily closing his eyes as he remembered Mycroft's text message.

_"You are not the only one who has lost his way."_

* * *

It had been hours since The Doctor left. John had tried to keep himself from worrying about him, he was after all, a grown man who was able to take care of himself. But as the hours ticked by and the snow continued to fall, John stopped listening to himself. It wasn't just _anyone_ ; it was The Doctor, the person Mycroft had specifically said to watch out for and to not leave alone, and John had left him alone.

Knowing his shoulder would regret it later; John pulled on his coat, stuffed The Doctor's Christmas present in his pocket, and walked out into the cold. He didn't know where The Doctor could have gone but John knew he couldn't go back home without him, so he just started walking. He walked past the line of flats and shops, searching faces but never finding the right one. Turning onto the next street, he ignored his stiffening shoulder as he pulled his coat collar up and kept on walking.

The Doctor was officially nowhere to be found and John was thinking about calling Mycroft. It felt as if he had walked for hours and he was almost frozen stiff and getting slightly panicky as he walked past a children's play ground. It was quiet and deserted but as John drew closer, he could see someone slowly swinging back and forth on a swing, with his coat tails floating around him.

John breathed a sigh of relief as he saw The Doctor sitting on the swing. He was tempted to go back to the flat but something about The Doctor sitting there alone with his head down, would not let John leave.

He slowly walked up to The Doctor so he wouldn't startle him and brushing off the snow on the swing next to him, John sat down, letting his feet trail through the snow.

He took a breath and looked across the snow covered playground. "I had a friend once, he was my best friend and he... he died. Just like yours."

John swallowed, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. "I guess you could say I have no qualifications for Christmas either."

Sadly, The Doctor looked at him. "Why is it the _best_ friends who always have to leave?"

John shook his head. "I don't know, all I know is that they were never supposed to."

The Doctor sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, he hated for John to see him cry. He knew John would think of it as weakness. The Doctor wasn't weak, he was just tired.

"Christmas hurts, John," he whispered, tapping the side of his head. "Up here, there are so many memories that I don't know what to do with and I don't know what to tell them."

John blinked away tears of his own as they burned his eyes. He cleared his throat and his mouth tightened as he brushed snow off his coat sleeve.

"Yeah, it does hurt, Doctor, and I don't think there is anything we _can_ do for them, except," John's voice broke and he took a deep breath to steady himself before making himself go on. "Except keep them safe since they're all we have left."

The Doctor nodded and after a moment looked at John and forlornly asked. "What do people without friends and family here do on Christmas?"

John thought a moment and laughed softly. "I have no idea," he admitted, "I never tried it before. I suppose they go and let the people who haven't left them behind be their adopted friends and family."

"Do you think that works?" The Doctor asked, wiping away at the stubborn tears that the cold wind and heartache summoned.

"I guess it's worth a try," John replied thoughtfully as he smiled at the other man. "What do you say, Doctor? Can I invite you to have a Christmas with me?"

The Doctor laughed shakily and nodded. "Can we still get a tree? It's been years since I decorated a tree."

"Mycroft sent a little one over yesterday for us," John replied as he pulled The Doctor's present out of his coat pocket and gently handed it to him.

"I know it's early, but I didn't think you would mind."

The Doctor stared at the beautiful multicolored scarf with its vibrant hues that mixed and matched so perfectly. Shocked that anyone, especially John Watson of all people would give him anything, The Doctor just stared down at the scarf.

"It's... it's a present." he whispered in disbelief, looking up at John, wide eyed.

John nodded and replied gently and a bit hesitantly.

"Yes... yes it is."

The Doctor looked down at his gift again. "It's been years since anyone has ever given me a Christmas present."

He slowly wrapped the warm, soft scarf around his neck and hid his face in the ends, trying to conceal fresh tears.

"Well," John whispered huskily, "I'm glad I could give you one. I thought of you the moment I saw it. It's just you."

The Doctor looked up, at John and smiled at him. The scarf had wiped away all traces of his tears.

"Thank you, John Watson, it's every bit like me."

John stood and held out his hand to The Doctor who slowly took it, letting John help him off the swing. As they turned to leave the playground, The Doctor whirled to face John and excitedly asked.

"So about that tree you mentioned?"

John grinned and replied reassuringly. "You can decorate it however you want, that's what adopted friends and family do."

"You're inviting me to be an adopted friend and family?" The Doctor stopped walking as he clutched his scarf and stared at John in surprise, "But you don't even like me."

John stopped as the truth slapped him in the face. Turning back to look at The Doctor, John sighed as he gathered up his courage to speak.

"To tell you the truth, I don't like myself very much. But you're my flat mate, Doctor, and we might as well spend Christmas together since we have no one else."

He paused and looked down at the snow. "And for the record, I don't stay around people who I don't like, so in a way, yes, I am inviting you."

The Doctor grinned at the thought of being invited and wanted by someone. He had forgotten how it felt and nodded shyly, unsure of what to do. So he just stuck his hands jauntily in his pockets and tried not to let his excitement take over his head.

"Well, then, John Watson, I accept."

Their eyes met with silent understanding and John nodded, relief filling him that neither would have to be by himself during Christmas. He waited as The Doctor caught up to him again. As they walked beside each other back to the flat The Doctor asked cheerfully.

"Can we make star cookies and hang them on the tree? Amy always let me do that."

"Only if I can have some cookie dough." was John's only reply and The Doctor practically danced down the sidewalk.

"Wait a minute!" he said, spinning around and looking at John sadly as if he just remembered something.

"You already gave me your present, so what will you put under the tree?"

John just shrugged, trying not to smile. "Oh, I found something else to put under the tree for you."

"Is it a bicycle?" The Doctor asked, his face brightening. "I always wanted to learn how to ride a bicycle."

John only shook his head, "I'm not telling you." he said as he quickly grabbed The Doctor's scarf, saving him from running into a lamp post.

As The Doctor chattered away excitedly beside John and they grew nearer to the flat, John knew that it was going to be a good Christmas and this year, for some reason, he wasn't afraid of it.

His thoughts were interrupted when he realized The Doctor had suddenly stopped talking and had fallen behind. John turned around and saw him standing silently, his arms outstretched at his sides and looking up at the sky, trying to catch snow flakes on his tongue.

The snow was beautiful, John had to admit. It was so white; untouched where it had fallen the night before. Suddenly The Doctor let out a loud laugh of joy as he fell backward into a snowdrift causing a poof of snow to erupt around him.

"Look, John! I can make a snow angel!"

John grinned at the sight of his flat mate, spreading his arms and legs like a mad man in the snow.

A hand shot up above the snow and waved. "Could I have a hand?" The Doctor asked before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Come on you," John said, walking over to The Doctor and pulling him to his feet. "Let's go home and decorate that tree."


	6. Mrs. Hudson, The Doctor, and Bow Ties

The first time The Doctor met Mrs. Hudson was when she came to visit John one Saturday afternoon.

John had gotten a late start to the morning and he was making his second cup of tea, before he remembered that Mrs. Hudson was coming _today_ andwas due to arrive in half an hour and the flat was in a _deplorable_ mess.

John dropped his cup of tea in the sink with a gasp and raced to the foot of the stairs, yelling, "Doctor wake up!"

He heard an unmistakable thump from upstairs that could only mean that The Doctor had fallen out of bed, and a few minutes later The Doctor half ran - half fell down the stairs and landed in a heap at John's feet.

"I forgot that a friend of mine is coming to visit today." John explained to the stunned, half asleep man who lay sprawled on the stairs. The Doctor thought about John's words for a few seconds, then he nodded solemnly. "In other words," he said, blinking up at John from his upside down position, "battle stations because a lady person you haven't seen in a long time is coming and you want to appear normal?"

John shrugged helplessly, Yes," he admitted, "that's about it."

"I understand," The Doctor shuddered with a grimace as John pulled him to his feet. "I take the living room and you take the kitchen?"

John nodded.

"Sounds good to me," The Doctor replied, and both men dashed off in opposite directions to battle the disorder that was scattered through the flat.

They made good time as they frantically washed dishes, swept dust bunnies beneath the rug and stuffed a month's worth of old newspapers behind the couch. As they sat in their chairs, trying to catch their breath, they looked around the flat, and were relieved to find it to be quite satisfactory in appearance.

It hadn't looked half as clean when John lived at 221B and John thought it looked good enough to pass Mrs. Hudson's keen eye.

"I think we made it," John said with a sigh of relief. He hoped that whatever report Mrs. Hudson made to Mycroft would be acceptable. John was upholding his part of the bargain and Mycroft should be pleased.

The only thing that was left to do was to get properly dressed. John put on a new jumper and The Doctor came out of his room wearing a new suit jacket that he had excitedly found in a second hand store. Much to John's dismay, there had been nothing John could say to talk him out of buying it.

"How do I look?" The Doctor asked, twirling gracefully. John smiled, "You look very nice. Here, bend down a little." John said, motioning with his hand as he pulled a comb out of his pocket.

The Doctor bent his head slightly as John stood on his tip toes and combed the wild patch of hair. "Do you think she'll like me?" The Doctor asked as John ran a hand over his hair, trying to tame the beast.

John laughed softly, "Everyone likes you, Doctor. I wouldn't worry."

"What if she doesn't like me? Not... not everyone likes me." The Doctor stammered, frowning worriedly as he tried to wiggle out of John's grasp. John's comb was catching too many tangles and John wasn't the gentlest of hair combers.

"Why wouldn't she like you?" John asked; one hand firmly gripping the Doctor's shoulder so he wouldn't scurry away, while with the other hand he continued to attack the atrocious patch of hair.

The Doctor only sighed in reply and John, finally satisfied that the hair would stay controlled at least for a few minutes, loosened his grasp and gently patted The Doctor's shoulder.

"Why wouldn't she like you?" John repeated, waiting patiently until The Doctor reluctantly raised his eyes to meet John's. The troubled look had returned. It had been gone since Christmas and John had thought that maybe it had left for good until today.

"Maybe she'll decide it's not safe to like me. That's what happened to the... others," The Doctor admitted softy as he looked back down at the carpet; no longer trying to escape from John's hand on his shoulder.

"Well," John comforted, "This is Mrs. Hudson and she will love you. And…," John paused, until the Doctor slowly looked up at him again. "As for those other people, they apparently never knew a good thing when they found it."

The Doctor looked up quickly and gave John a big, warm smile, as the man's reassuring words, dashed the cloud of trouble from The Doctor's eyes.

"Thank you, John Watson." The Doctor whispered.

John nodded, and smiled up at him in return. "Come on, you," he said, patting The Doctor's thin shoulder again. "Let's go make some tea."

After the two men made tea, they set the coffee table with their very best tea cups, saucers and some chocolate biscuits they were saving as a special treat. The Doctor even ran into the shop downstairs and purchased a large pink flower which he stuck energetically into a measuring cylinder, and set in the centre of it all. John was amazed and proud at how nicely it all looked. With everything now ready and presentable, there was nothing left to do but wait for Mrs. Hudson to arrive.

As they sat and waited, with John staring fixedly at the clock and The Doctor fidgeting nervously on the settee, there was a soft knock at the door and before he knew it, John had flung it open and was hugging Mrs. Hudson tightly. It had been three months since he had last seen the dear woman, and he'd forgotten how much he had missed her.

"Hello, dear. It's been a while hasn't it?" Mrs. Hudson whispered understandingly, as John silently clutched her, burying his face in her shoulder. Tears burned his eyes, as she gently stroked the back of his head. As they stood there, John breathed in the familiar smells of home; 221B Baker Street. Each smell brought back the comforting memories he'd frantically thought were lost. He could smell the aroma of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, the burned draperies of the old flat and Sherlock's coat.

John tried to hold onto the smells and their beloved memories as long as he could, unwilling to lose them again. But a few minutes later as he realized where he was, the smells faded and their memories slipped through his fingers. Without their protection, he was just a broken John Watson again.

"Thanks for visiting me," John mumbled, raising his head and brushing a hand across his eyes, "I'm glad you didn't forget me."

Mrs. Hudson laughed gently and she took John's face in her hands and made him look her in the eyes; those kind blue eyes. "Nonsense, I would never forget any of my boys."

John nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He suddenly remembered The Doctor was most likely, waiting anxiously to be introduced. Taking Mrs. Hudson gently by the hand, John led her into the living room.

"Please come in," he said, "there is someone I want you to meet."

As they entered the room, John realized with a start, that The Doctor had vanished from the settee and was nowhere to be seen.

"Doctor," John called encouragingly," My friend is here, it's alright to come out, you know."

The Doctor's head slowly appeared from around the kitchen door way and cautiously, he edged into the living room, looking like a man who desperately wished to be somewhere else.

"It's alright," John coaxed. "She's nice, I promise"

Hesitantly, The Doctor approached Mrs. Hudson, looking warily from the old lady and then to John, trying to decide if John was speaking the truth. John nodded encouragingly at him. The Doctor studied Mrs. Hudson seriously for a few seconds like she was an extinct species.

Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly at him. "Hello, Doctor, I'm Mrs. Hudson. That's a lovely bow tie you are wearing."

Surprised at the compliment, The Doctor touched his bow tie with an insecure movement of his nimble fingers. "You think so? John hates them."

Mrs. Hudson giggled and looked at John who rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Well," she replied, turning back to The Doctor was observing her cautiously again. "I think it's beautiful. Bow ties are special you know. It takes a special kind of person to wear them pro-"

Her explanation was abruptly cut off as The Doctor's face suddenly lit up with joy, and without any warning whatsoever, he stepped forward and he hugged her.

"She's perfect!" he said excitedly, his voice almost squeaking as he looked up at John from the shoulder of the startled Mrs. Hudson. "Is she our mother?"

John laughed at the surprised look on Mrs. Hudson's face, as The Doctor realized what he had just done and backed away from her apologetically. "Forgive me."

"No" John calmly replied, trying not smile at his awkward flat mate. John regretted not giving the dear lady a warning about The Doctor's impulsive behavior. "She isn't our mother."

"Oh," The Doctor said, looking at Mrs. Hudson rather disappointingly before his face lit up again. "Then can we adopt her?"

John looked over at Mrs. Hudson who just smiled and nodded her head invitingly, as her initial shock over the sudden hug attack faded. Living with Sherlock and John, had made her a veteran of meeting and taking care of the unaccepted people who the world had labeled _strange,_ _unusual, freak_ and _not in the least, human._

"Of course you can, my dear," Mrs. Hudson replied in a firm voice, walking up to the Doctor and straightening his bow tie. "Anyone who has such good taste in bow ties and who is a friend of John's, is a friend of mine."

Speechless, The Doctor smiled, no... he beamed at John who nodded and gave him a thumbs up behind Mrs. Hudson's back.

John had never seen the Doctor be so hesitant and shy around anyone, but The Doctor never had met any of John's friends before till now. John hadn't realized before how differently The Doctor acted around him. He hadn't realized how important The Doctor viewed the things that were special to John, like Mrs. Hudson. The Doctor wasn't that way with other people at all.

Most times The Doctor would just walk through the crowds of people as if he were trying to be invisible. He wouldn't look anyone in the eyes; trying not to be noticed, shying away from people's touch as if they burned him.

But with John, it was like The Doctor let himself be visible even though it seemed to hurt him at times. He would look John in the eyes and acknowledge and listen to him. He would let John pat him on the shoulder without flinching and he would laugh as he would throw snow balls at John's head. It seemed like John was the only thing that was keeping The Doctor alive and in color.

John passed a shaking hand across his eyes. He didn't know or understand why The Doctor had chosen him and he hoped that one day he would do something to deserve the other man's kindness, trust and friendship that he offered before The Doctor gave up and disappeared completely.

In the meantime, as The Doctor started to cheerfully chatter away to Mrs. Hudson about his job interview next week and about what toys meant to humanity and the world, John leaned against the counter and sighed with relief. He knew if anyone would accept his new flat mate without question it would be Mrs. Hudson. He remembered what she had said the first time she told Sherlock to bring John over for dinner.

_"We are family, dear. It's what we do."_


End file.
